The Hard Part
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: The true challenge in any relationship comes not in times of peace, but in times of conflict. Can Christian and Syed rebuild from the rubble of their first major fall out? Or has the baby issue just taken them too far? All angst must lead to fluff!
1. Explosion

**Title:** The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)**  
Chapter:** 1/5 (ish)**  
Fandom:** EastEnders  
**Characters:** Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.  
**Pairings:** Christian/Syed  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until Thursday 27th January '11

**Summary: **The true challenge in any relationship comes not in times of peace, but in times of conflict. Can Christian and Syed rebuild from the rubble of their first major fall out? Or has the baby issue just taken them too far?

**A/N**: I wrote this because I don't trust writers. Anywhere. My time in various fandoms (Torchwood and Phantom of the Opera specifically) has taught me that writers are more likely to screw you over when it comes to concluding a particular story thread rather than actually doing it well. And, seeing as Christian and Syed were just about willing to boil over about the whole baby issue, I didn't think it could be left simmering for another week and a half (or however long until they're actually in the show again). So this is me trying to depict, realistically, what I think happened on the night of that episode. Those of you who've read my Torchwood stuff will know that I thrive on angst as long as it is resolved well - fluff and domestic fun never got anyone any screen time, unfortunately. I'm blowing them up in order to rebuild them stronger.

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x

**The Hard Part**

x**  
**

_"Conflict is the gadfly of thought. It stirs us to observation and memory. It instigates to invention. It shocks us out of sheeplike passivity, and sets us at noting and contriving."  
~_  
John Dewey

x

Christian hated this.

He hated the silence; the tension that crackled between them. It fizzed and hissed, spitting flames and burning skin and yet, unlike the tension that had been forever present in those months _before_, it was so, so _cold_. A deep freeze that permeated the air with such ferocity that Christian had to suppress a shiver, his fingers and toes tingling with what he hoped wasn't the onset of frostbite.

They'd been at it all day. Faces tensed, arms crossed, shielding themselves from one another as if they were the worst of enemies; standing at opposite ends of a battlefield with only brief, sharp, painful shots cutting into the silence. It was worse than an argument. At least then tempers could be set free, emotions could be released and then…well...then they could work beyond it. Then they could _breathe_ and begin to think about things as logically as possible. At least, he thought they could.

But not when it was like this. They couldn't go forward when they were being so evasive, so stoic - but neither of them was willing to break. Christian was waiting for Syed to crumble, and Syed was waiting for him to back down. As if they both believed that if they continued with the gradual stream of water then, eventually, one of their defences was sure to be eroded away. Only, it was more than a stream of water – it was a trickle of acid, dripping and burning so slowly that neither of them would notice until it was too late…

It was evening when Christian finally decided that he'd had enough. To hell with holding out, he thought bitterly as he twisted yet another glass around in his fingers. His wall was crumbling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

If it was going to fall, he was going to make damned sure that Syed got caught in the rubble.

"Are we just going to do this all night?"

Syed glanced up from the magazine he was reading over at the table.

"Do what?" he took another sip of his orange juice, his voice cold and clipped.

"This."

There was a brief silence before Syed returned to his magazine, the paper fluttering as he turned the page roughly.

"I wasn't aware that we were doing anything."

Christian could feel his fingers tightening around the glass, the last remnants of the alcohol sizzling slightly in his stomach as he refrained from shattering the crystal.

"That's what I mean," he muttered, his eyes focused on the light refracting from the glass. "We can't just do nothing all night."

The crackle of moving paper stopped for a brief second, silence permeating the room before the gentle _flip-flip-flip_ continued at a frantic pace.

"Yeah, well, if you want to go out why don't you just call _Roxy_ and…"

The sound of the glass slamming onto the floor cut him short.

"That's not fair," Christian bolted to this feet, the sofa creaking as he hurled his hand down onto the arm and turned to face Syed. "That's _not_ fair."

"Why not?"

"Because you _know _what I mean," Christian squared himself, his shoulders tensed as his fingernails dug into the sofa. "This has nothing to do with Roxy; this is about you and me."

Syed refused to lift his eyes from the magazine, his jaw clenching as his fingers crumpled the edge of the page.

"How can this have nothing to do with Roxy?" he spoke through gritted teeth, his whole face pulled tight. "If this goes through, it'll never be 'you and me' ever again; she'll always be a part of it. But you didn't think about that, did you, before you went storming in?"

Christian swallowed hard, a lump that felt like brimstone smarting against his throat. He clenched his fist against the wool of the sofa, the threads ripping slightly beneath his fingers as he took a deep, calming breath.

"I thought that…"

"No, Christian, you didn't think. I think we've firmly established that," Syed glanced upwards. "And we've discussed this as much as we're going to, so just stop."

"No," Christian's voice caught Syed as he moved to look down, as if a hand had reached out and pulled his gaze back upwards. "You're not just going to sit there and _pretend_ that there's nothing wrong."

"Just because I don't want a shouting match with you doesn't mean that…"

"That you're avoiding it? Of course it does. It's your speciality, after all – ignoring the blindingly bloody obvious. We gonna go through this again, Syed? Dancing 'round the issue, refusing to look it square in the eye? Because that's worked so _well _for us in the past. Or do you need me to remind you how successfully the whole avoidance thing went for you last time?"

Syed jerked up, the paper ripping beneath his grasp as the chair slid away from him.

"Bringing that up is low even for you."

"Even for me? And what do you mean by that?" Christian crossed his arms. "Come on, what does that mean?"

Syed straightened, his whole posture spewing venom as he mirrored Christian exactly.

"Well, you're not exactly the classiest of people, are you?" every word was designed to hurt and Christian knew that – wasn't that the point? "I mean, look at the genes you were willing to give your child. _Mitchell_ genes, really? Because they have such a reputation for being good stock, don't they?"

Something seemed to flash in Christian's eyes as Syed spoke, his jaw setting so firmly that the bone seemed ready to break from the skin. His fingers clenched and unclenched, the veins popping at the knuckles as he bit down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood.

"Well," he stretched every single word, each syllable like a cobra spitting poison. "I might not be up to _your_ standards, but at least I've always been honest."

The words had barely left his mouth before Syed had stepped forward, his hands now curled into fists at his sides as he pushed his face into Christian's.

"We were _over _that," he hissed, his voice trembling. "You have no _right_ to bring that up."

"Why not?" Christian drew himself up to his full height, his bulky weight casting a dark, tense shadow over Syed's much lither frame. "How can we be over it when you're _still_ not telling me the truth? You're still hiding. How can I ever do anything right if you don't have the balls to tell me when I'm doing something wrong?"

"So it's my fault?"

"Well, if the cap fits."

"It _doesn't_," their faces were so close that Christian could feel the words vibrating through the air and onto his lips. "This isn't my fault. _You _made the decisions. _You_ went ahead with it. Just like before, you didn't even stop to think what I wanted, what I needed. I had a chance and now you've blown it and…"

"Hang on," Christian held up a hand, his eyes flashing dangerously as he planted his palm on Syed's chest and roughly pushed him backwards. "_What_ chance? What aren't you telling me? Why are you still hiding and...and thinking that that's not going to bother me? I _hate_ when you're like this because there's nothing I can do to make you happy. You're impossible. What do you want from me?"

"To back off!" Syed push back against Christian's hand, his finger coming up to jab painfully against his sternum. "To stop acting like this is normal! To stop thinking that we can raise a kid together – are you insane? There was the _slimmest _of chances that my parents _might _have accepted us, but you think that's going to happen now? They'll think that I'm…"

Christian's hand shot up, catching hold of Syed's wrist and holding it tightly in place.

"What, Sy? What'll they think?"

Brown eyes bore intently into his, the fire in them smarting him painfully.

"That I'm complicit in _this_."

A frown creased Christian's features, his anger and confusion combining as his brow knitted tightly together.

"In what?"

"Don't be dense."

Something dawned in Christian's eyes, his whole face falling slack as he took a step back – as if Syed had lashed out and caught him across the face.

"You don't think…"

"That two gay guys can raise a kid? Why would you think for even a second that I would? It goes against _everything _I believe in."

"But…" some of the anger had fallen away from Christian's voice, a quiet tightness gathering in the back of his throat. "I thought that…"

"I'm still a Muslim, Christian. I guess you forgot that when you realised it wouldn't suit what you wanted from me. I never stopped being a Muslim just because I was too weak to not love you. I gave up enough already to be with you; I won't go against my faith anymore. I think I've done enough flouting of my own moral code for one life-time without adding anything else."

Christian's mouth opened and closed a few times, the air hissing from his throat as he struggled to mould the sound coherently. His whole face crumpled, a mixture of anger and despair dancing across his eyes painfully. Eventually, the fire of anger overcame the more placid emotions swirling in his mind; the flames of sudden, furious understanding destroying anything else.

"You still blame me," he hissed, a hint of disbelief permeating his voice as his eyes bore into Syed's with an intensity he had not felt for months. "You still think it's _my_ fault. After _everything_, I'm still the desperate old queen who tore you away from your family, from your faith. I can't believe you _still_…"

Syed's hand hovered between them, wavering in Christian's loosening grip as if contemplating whether to push Christian away or pull him closer. Eventually he settled for sweeping it back and gripping at his own hair, tugging the dark locks until Christian was convinced they were going to come away at the root – and an increasingly large part of him willed that to happen.

"You think it's that simple? Christian, you have no idea. How could you possibly understand? You can't know what it's been like for me."

"Can't I? So I didn't lose anything when I came out? I don't know what it's like to have my family shun me because of that? I'm the one who's still got the scars because I had the balls to be who I was rather than what other people wanted me to be. Don't you forget that."

"Aren't you even listening to me?" Syed was shouting now – really shouting - and Christian couldn't help but feel a small stirring of smugness amongst the anger that had been simmering for days. "That's not the point! It's not the same. I don't care about that."

"'Course you don't. Coz it's all about _you_, Sy. It always was. _You _wanted to be with me; _you _didn't want to be with me; _you _wanted me to help you; _you _want me to understand. It's always been about you. Y'know, I stupidly thought we were past all this – but obviously I was wrong."

A gush of air hit Christian's face as Syed laughed, his nostrils flaring as he refused to break the fiery gaze that seemed to link them together.

"But Christian Clarke is never wrong, is he?" he muttered, each word punctuated with bitterness. "He's always right, about everything, and to hell with what anyone else thinks."

Syed tried to turn away, a look of abject disgust descending on his face as he averted his gaze. But Christian anticipated the movement, his hand jerking up to catch Syed's chin and forcing him around to face him.

"Tell me you hate me, Sy," his voice was low; he could hear it trembling against his vocal chords, every single breath so low in his throat that he could barely hear them. "Go on. Tell me that you _hate _me."

There was a beat - a brief moment in which the silence was absolute - and then the bomb exploded.

"I hate you," the words sounded as if they had been ripped from Syed's lips, each syllable ricocheting around the room. "I _hate _you."

Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds, the words hanging heavily in the air as if they couldn't quite settle. And when they finally did, both men reacted simultaneously.

Syed pulled out from Christian's grasp just as the older man pushed him in the opposite direction, the force of the movement sending them hurtling away from one another. Christian stumbled against the sofa, bracing his weight on the arm as the back of Syed's legs caught the table behind him. He watched him hang in the air, his hand grasping at the wooden struts in slow motion as he struggled to keep himself upright.

For a brief moment Christian felt the sudden urge to go and help him, to catch him just as he'd once promised he always would. But that feeling didn't last for very long as the words that he'd heard – no, _made_ – Syed say began to ring through his brain. He snatched his hand away as Syed managed to right himself; it was like they were the same pole of different magnets, identical and yet pushing each other away.

They stood for a few moments, the sound of heavy breathing filling the air as they stared. Their eyes were locked together, each one tense as they waited for the other to make his move. That word – _hatehatehatehate_ - echoed around the room, ricocheting off walls and hitting them both with a force. Christian could still feel its impact, but he wasn't quite ready to register just how much it had hurt. There was still too much adrenaline pumping through his veins to notice the sting.

That is, until Syed suddenly made a break for the door, shattering their angry connection in one swift movement as he slammed it shut behind him. With the focus of Christian's anger ebbing away with the vibrations of the doorframe, the adrenaline began to quickly recede…

Then it hurt. Then it _really _hurt.

It hurt enough to push him down so that he was sat on the floor, back propped against the sofa with his head in his hands.

_What have I done?_

x

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_*insert 'duff duff' here*_

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_

_Thank you for reading! _

_Any comments or suggestions on how I can continue to find my feet in this fandom would be most appreciated and warmly welcomed. The next chapter should be up tomorrow - unless I'm being held hostage by a university assignment.  
_


	2. Debris

**Title:** The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)**  
Chapter:** 2/5 (ish)**  
Fandom:** EastEnders  
**Characters:** Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.  
**Pairings:** Christian/Syed  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until Thursday 27th January '11

**A/N: **Since this episode I've seen a few people gravitating one way or the other: that is, either siding with Christian or siding with Syed. The majority are all for kicking Christian for being a silly boy – which he was – but I do feel a lot of sympathy for him. He was rash and hasty and impulsive, but that's also part of his charm; and Syed knew that when he decided to be with him. As shall be made clear in this chapter, _both_ of them handled this wrong and _both _of them are to blame for the situation that arose: Christian for not thinking things through and for failing to notice Syed's hesitancy, but also Syed for failing to tell Christian what he really wanted and then getting cross when it wasn't what he wanted (I know people like this: it's incredibly disheartening and upsetting to learn that you've been getting it wrong all along without them saying). This chapter is about their own internal conflict as they come to terms with the fact that they are both to blame - and whether they can do anything to fix it.

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x

_'Some of us are born, and then some of us are born again._  
_Some of us are scared to death, and some just don't believe in it._  
_Something's always wrong, there's a line, an idea I can't get behind_  
_No one knows what's right.'  
~_  
'Who Will Save Us Now?'  
- Straylight Run

x_  
_

Syed could still feel the door shaking on it's hinges as he slumped against it, the fire in his veins cooling slightly as he slid to the ground with a soft _thud_. Now that he was out of the flat, the air felt cold; the tightness and fury had gone, blown away by the draft that always managed to sneak in under the front door.

It was replaced by a bubbling, simmering resentment that made his whole body tense against the cold wood. He sank his teeth into his tongue as he crooked his knees and buried his head in his hands, drawing his legs to his chest to make himself as small as possible. His hands were shaking against him, even as he threaded his fingers through his hair in an attempt to anchor them in stillness.

Every inch of him was thrumming with emotions that were too erratic to place; too vague and quick-changing to pin down and fully absorb. He scrabbled for a short while, fingers tightening painfully in his hair as he tried in vain to sort them into some sort of coherency. But they just kept slipping from his grasp, running from his desperate fingers and flinging a single, mocking word over their shoulders as they fled.

_Hate_.

He'd actually used it. He'd never used it before, not even in the darkest of times - and this last year had been the darkest of his life so far.

It was a word that rang in the air all around him, swimming through his synapses and taunting him mercilessly. He could hear it on Christian's lips, could picture each letter falling deftly from his tongue: _tell me you hate me_.

As if he'd wanted him to say it. Isn't that what he'd wanted? To hear it from Syed's own lips – closure maybe, or the smug satisfaction of knowing just how weak he was to his emotions?

Or maybe it had been a silent plea – maybe, in asking him to say it, Christian had actually been begging for reassurance that he _didn't_. And Syed hadn't even been able to give him that, just as he hadn't been able to give him the one thing that he wanted more than anything in the world:

A proper _family_.

There was a flurrying in his stomach, an anxiousness swirling away amongst the disappointment and the hurt. Panic was gripping hard at his insides, twisting and wrenching as echoes of their argument flashed through his mind. A large part of him wanted to go back inside, to grab the front of Christian's shirt and pull him into a fierce hug; to forget about everything and anything and just pretend that everything was okay.

That _he _was okay.

But Christian didn't want that, did he? He wanted confrontation and open emotions; something that he knew from the start Syed would struggle to give him. Syed had always been the tentatively bound journal in direct opposition to Christian's loud, public story. Christian _knew_ that he hated this: he hated fighting, he hated shouting, he hated _conflict_. He would rather just let everything bubble over in the calmest of ways. Let it work itself out. It was a slower approach, but Syed was sure that it would have worked if only Christian had been _patient_ with it. If only he had been able to wait. If only he had been willing to accept that confrontation was _not_ the answer, not always.

Syed knew he should have learned that lesson a long time ago. No one said 'no' to Christian Clarke – not without feeling the full sting of the repercussions.

A fresh wave of anger pummelled into him, his breath drawing harshly into his lungs as he hauled himself to his feet. He'd left his coat back in the flat, but he barely noticed the desperate bite of the wind as he walked briskly out into the street; it was as if the fire in his veins had been restored, scorching every inch of him and overpowering the freezing temperatures that battered his body.

It wasn't his fault.

It wasn't.

Christian pushed too hard. He always had. He pushed, and he pushed, and he _pushed_. He wanted things to be different; he wanted Syed to be the man that he had always envisioned being with. But Syed _couldn't do that_. He could only disappoint him. After he'd given up so much, after he'd lost everything, after he'd set aside everything he had ever known in order to be with Christian – and still the man wanted more. Wanted more than he could give.

He wouldn't flout his faith. Not again. Never again. Choosing Christian had been the point at which he had stopped. He refused to go any further than that. Christian made him a better person, a truer person, an _honest_ person, and wasn't that what he needed to be in order to fulfil his faith? That's why he'd done it. That's why he'd given up everything – because he loved Christian _and _because he loved his faith.

But this – this was beyond anything. It violated everything he had ever been taught; everything he had ever believed. He remembered a time when Christian had begged him to tell him more, to teach him, to help him _understand_. He'd wanted to know. He'd _longed_ to understand.

Syed kicked out at the ground as he neared the park, a stone skimming across the pavement ahead of him before halting in the tangled grass.

It was amazing how quickly that longing to know - to understand, to _respect_ - had dissipated. Once the novelty had worn off, then Christian hadn't even been…

He stopped suddenly, his arms wrapping around his torso as the biting wind finally took a hold of his skin.

_Go to the library…get a book…_

He'd known Christian would never do it. And hadn't that, honestly, been the point?

There was another gust of wind, the chill rustling through his hair and forcing a shiver along the length of his spine. Syed took a few more steps forward, the grass brushing against the skin of his ankle as he headed for a bench; niggling, poking, brushing softly and yet pointedly. As if even the grass was telling him that he'd done something wrong.

Sinking down, Syed rested his elbows on his knees and brushed a tired hand through his hair. The flames began to settle inside him, flickering faintly as they searched hungrily for the last few remnants of his anger. He could feel it sinking back, cooling the blood in his veins and calming the rapid thoughts in his head.

Perhaps, he thought grudgingly, he'd never really given Christian a chance. He'd never really let him into that part of his life; sealing it off like a box of precious memories, preventing the man he loved from tainting the one thing that he still saw as pure. He'd actively pushed Christian's attempts at understanding away – was there any wonder that he'd given up?

Religion, children, morality…rolls and bagels…he'd never told Christian how he really felt. Perhaps he was right in that sense – how could he possibly do the right thing if Syed didn't tell him what the right thing was? In his silence, he might as well have been giving Christian permission to press ahead.

But he was so _insensitive_. He'd never even considered that it _might_ have been a problem, never bothered to ask, never stopped to think for _one moment_ that bringing a child into their lives…

Syed leant back and closed his eyes, sucking a calming breath into his lungs to try and still the stream of conflicting thoughts. He felt like a crooked see-saw, wrenched from one side to the other as he struggled to regain the perfect balance that he longed for.

Christian was right – but he was so, _so_ wrong as well.

After a few moments of wrestling, Syed forced his eyes open so that he was staring up into the dark of the sky. It hung like a curtain of black velvet; the stars obscured by the orange of the streetlamps and the clouds hovering above him.

As if the light was hiding from him – just beyond his grasp.

Suddenly, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone– thanking Allah briefly that he'd had the good sense to leave it in his pocket - and began to punch at the keys.

He couldn't clear the clouds away. But maybe someone else could.

x

x

The flowers were sat on the table where Syed had left them, wilting slightly in the air. Christian had relocated to the couch, his phone abandoned on the floor along with the glass; he had purposefully turned his back on the darkening plants, his elbows rested on his knees and his spine hunched protectively.

It wasn't working.

He could feel the drooping petals glaring at him, crinkling and crumpling accusingly as he sat staring into the near distance. He should probably get up and put them in some water – it wasn't _their_ fault, after all – and when Syed came home he didn't want him to think that…

Christian dropped his face into his hands, his fingers rubbing roughly at the corners of his eyes as if trying to gouge out something he couldn't quite reach.

_I hate you. _

He'd made him say it. Practically forced it out of him; he might as well have stuck a hand down Syed's throat and wrenched the words from his lips. Christian was beginning to wonder why Syed would ever want to come home after that. The longer that the door remained firmly closed, the more he could feel his whole world crumpling along with the flowers he had bought.

They'd argued before. Their relationship had never been anything other than passionate – that had been established right from the beginning. But their fights had all, thus far, led to one thing: furious, desperate and rapid reconciliation. Hell, even after Christian had made the biggest mistake of their relationship thus far – before this, of course – it hadn't taken long before Syed had turned up in their house with forgiveness in his heart and a kilt around his waist.

Christian groaned and threw himself back on the sofa, reaching for the cushion and hugging it to his chest. He hadn't done this for a very long time, not since he'd thought he had lost Syed forever, and the soft material felt fresh as rested it against his chin. In a way, it was comforting to wrap his arms around it and crush it for all it was worth; but, in another, it was a sensation that brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.

Christian thought that he'd put everything that had happened in those twelve months behind them, casting it aside like an unwanted toy the moment that Syed made his choice. But, he figured, that obviously wasn't true. It wasn't true for either of them.

The gentle softness of the cushion began to grate against his flesh, nothing more than an irritating contrast to the coarse stubble he would usually feel tucked just beneath his chin. A sudden wave of anger coursed through his veins, sparking against his synapses as he straightened his back and flung the cushion against the wall. It hit the hard surface with a satisfying _thud_, seeming to pause in mid air for a brief second before sliding slowly down to the floor.

God, he had no idea what he was doing wrong. He had no idea how to make things right with Syed – because Syed was still _hiding_. There was no way he could break through that prison of concrete he had built up around him. He'd just assumed, when Syed hadn't offered any objections, that that meant that he was okay with it – how was he to know otherwise? How was he to tell what was right when he didn't know what was wrong?

Christian was _so _angry with Syed. Anger that he'd only felt during the see-saw of their non-relationship; a fury born from the constant uncertainty and, most prominently, the sense that Syed was _ashamed_ of what they had. He'd thought that, in those few, life-altering minutes in the Square six months ago, Syed had put that behind him. He'd thought that, in those few words, Syed had ceased to see their relationship as something to be hidden, to be disguised, to be locked away behind a false door of 'normality'.

That's what he'd said, wasn't it, right back at the beginning?

_I'm not like you…I'm normal…_

He remembered how happy Syed had been to learn that Amira was pregnant; how his face had lit up, how he had so obviously adored the fact that he was going to be a father. Christian wanted that with him. He wanted to see those emotions, that love, but in _this_ reality rather than _tha_t lie. He wanted to take away all those heartbreaking premonitions he'd had at that time – the scenes of Amira, Syed and their baby, together as the family he could never have – and replace them with something tangible.

He thought Syed would have wanted that too.

And he wanted to make Syed happy.

But he'd been wrong. He'd obviously been wrong about a lot of things.

As much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand, he couldn't hide from the fact that Syed's hesitancy _hurt_. After _everything_ that they'd been through, all the pain and the heartache and now, finally, they had some peace and he yet still, _still_, saw what they had as abnormal…

That didn't just hurt: that was _agony_.

It cut deeply; gouging invisible holes in his flesh and then, as if that wasn't enough, pouring molten wax into the wounds with each reiteration. And that hurt had emerged as an intense, almost childish anger. Christian knew he had all but stamped his foot and demanded his way – but, at the time, that had seemed better than letting himself drown in all those emotions he had long since put away.

Not again. He wouldn't do that again. He'd felt them all, too frequently, all too sharply, for far, far too long, to let them back in now. He had cried too much.

Perhaps he'd been deluding himself all along – forcibly pasting his wants on top of what Syed needed. Maybe he'd been trying too hard to try and enforce the normality of this whole thing. He'd forgotten, somewhere along the line, that it would take a damned sight more than a few words to make the thought of actually being in a life-long – oh God, he still hoped so – gay relationship any easier.

Because this was new for him, too.

He'd never wanted to call anyone his _life partner_ before Syed. It had never even crossed his mind to think about commitment, about children, about how he would still love someone even when they were old and grey and possibly incontinent. And that he was feeling all this for the first time – it was terrifying.

He knew now that he'd pulled on the mask of 'gay guru', hidden himself behind his 'experience' and his stupid, misplaced pride. He could tell himself that he'd done that for Syed, to make it all easier for him, but that would be a lie. It was for him, to convince himself that he knew what he was doing; to kid himself into believing that he wasn't in any way as terrified as he was.

And so he'd just plunged in head first, jumping through all the wrong hoops and finding himself back where he'd started.

Alone on the couch without even a pillow to hold onto.

A knock on the door startled him just as his throat began to tighten, the shock of it forcing out a sob. He turned quickly, pressing his palms against his eyes to ward off the moisture that was gathering in the corners before hauling himself from the couch.

He didn't expect it to be Syed. He knew it wasn't Syed. He knew who it was. He'd called her, after all.

"Christian, what've you done?"

And suddenly he was a teenager again, curling himself into a ball in his sister's arms as he railed and cried about the world and how fucking, _fucking_ unfair it all was.

"I've screwed up," he managed as he buried his face in her hair, feeling her arms rocking him backwards and forwards as she eased them back into the flat.

"I've screwed up and I don't know how to make it right."

x

**TBC...**

x

* * *

_Ah, the angst, the sweet sweetness of the angst! _

_Thank you all for reading. I know this was quite jumpy and disjointed - but hey, interior monologues never seem to make sense. At least, mine never do. _


	3. Rescue Effort

**Title:** The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)**  
Chapter:** 3/5 (ish)**  
Fandom:** EastEnders  
**Characters:** Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.  
**Pairings:** Christian/Syed  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until Thursday 27th January '11

**A/N:** Okay, people, it's time to bring in the support team! These boys have buried themselves in the rubble of their argument and inability to deal with said argument, and they need someone to come along and shift some of the rocks. The next two chapters will chronicle this - it was going to be one, but I quickly realised that I would need to stretch it to two (one for Syed and one for Christian). As you've probably guessed, I am loathe to take sides in this argument because I genuinely believe they have both done wrong; they need to accept their own wrongs and forgive the other's wrongs before they can go any further. They also need to realise that they love each other more than life itself, and that that is something that they need to fight for, no matter how hard it gets. I know I promised sooner updates than this, but, as some of you will know from reading my Torchwood fictions or following me on LiveJournal, I am member of our LGBT+ Campaigns Committee as Trans Officer (I'm actually bisexual, but I was elected as Trans Officer). We're currently working towards a huge LGBT exhibition and the installation of Gender Neutral Toilets in our Student Union, which is taking a lot of my attention - I also recently wrote an article for our student magazine on bisexuality. On top of that I have a very hectic social life - as in, I often lounge on my friend's couch and watch Disney movies - which means that I never know when I'm going to be able to write. But I promise you that I do it whenever I can! Just bear with me; it should be a few days, but if it's not then at least you know why. Here endeth the long Author's Note.

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**3. Rescue Effort**

_Faith means living with uncertainty - feeling your way through life, letting your heart guide you like a lantern in the dark._

~Dan Millman

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"This had better be good," Tamwar wrapped his coat further around him, shivering in the wind as he neared the bench. "Because you just _know _that I am going to be locked up in my room for a whole week if mum finds out that I…"

He stopped mid-sentence, the wind snatching his words away as he caught sight of his brother. Syed was sitting with his head in his hands, his fingers threaded untidily through his hair as if he were trying to tug on the very surface of his brain. Tamwar took another tentative step forward, noting quickly that his brother wasn't even wearing a coat to protect him from the wind.

"Syed?"

The figure jumped at the sound of his voice, his head jerking up out of his hands as his body swivelled around to face the source of the noise.

"Are you okay?"

Syed's whole posture seemed to hover in mid air for a second, his jaw hanging open slightly before it was clamped into a tight, unconvincing smile.

"Me? I'm fine," his head nodded vigorously, bobbing up and down with a ferocity that made Tamwar's brain do a somersault. He could swear he saw moisture just on the ridge of Syed's cheekbone, a glistening something which stained just beneath his eyes.

"You're crying."

"No, I'm not," Syed rubbed furiously at his eyes, pressing the palm of his hand violently against the side of his face. "It's a damp evening. I must've caught a few drops of rain. It's been trying to do that for ages. You know it can never make up its mind about what it really wants…"

His voice seemed to cut out, drowned by a strange, hesitant noise that erupted from his throat. Tamwar could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed it back, his head tipping backwards against the edge of the bench as if gravity could force whatever it was back down where it had come from. After a few moments he lifted his neck into an upright position, leaning forward so that his elbows were rested on his knees.

"I'm fine," he said softly, his palms rubbing together as he took his weight on his arms. "I'm…I'm absolutely fine."

The last words hung for a few moments before a small, disbelieving snort echoed around the park.

"Riiight…" Tamwar took another step forward, his face scrunching inwards as his brother refused to meet his eyes. "So…what? You just thought you'd call me out in the middle of the night for a brotherly chat? See how things are going? Because, you know, I could actually be tucked up in bed right now _not _dying of frostbite and _not _waiting for my parents to find out and have one more thing to hold over my head like some kind of…"

"Okay, Tam!" Syed held up his hands in surrender, throwing himself against the bench as if the stream of words had forced him backwards. "Would you just sit down? Please?"

He shuffled along the cold seat, making room so that Tamwar could flop heavily down beside him. As he sat down next to his brother, he could feel the heat rapidly escaping from Syed's body as shivers seemed to overtake him. He opened his mouth to ask where his coat was - to suggest that, maybe, it would have been a good idea to put it on in the first place when he _knew _that the weather at this time of year was freezing at best – but then something ticked over in his brain as to perhaps _why_ he wasn't wearing a coat. He could feel his mouth forming an 'o' as the clogs clicked together, an uneasy awkwardness gathering in his stomach.

"So," he clasped his hands together between his knees, squeezing his whole body between his arms as he injected an air of forced joviality into his voice. "Did you talk to Christian, then?"

Syed's eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening tiredly.

"Yes."

"Ah," Tamwar nodded, purposefully letting his eyes follow the squirrel that had decided to take a jaunt across the grass. "And…uh…how'd it go?"

There was a pause as Syed seemed to consider his answer, his jaw tightening once more and his throat bobbing as though it were being tugged in both directions. Eventually, he took a breath, his tongue lashing across his bottom lips before he opened his mouth fully to answer.

"Not too well."

"Right," Tamwar began to fiddle with his fingers, picking at his nails whilst keeping his hands tucked warmly between his legs. "Not too well as in 'well, that's disappointing', or not too well as in 'I hate you and I never want to see you again'?"

Water seemed to gather in the corner of Syed's eyes, the whites reddening slightly as his mouth hung open; as if it were trying to catch the words from the air, his jaw twitching as he struggled to suck in the right answer. A few seconds ticked by before he clamped his mouth shut, his lips rolling together tightly as he turned his head away from his younger brother.

"I'm guessing that means the second one?"

Syed ran a shaking hand through his hair. It wasn't something that he'd ever really done before, not whilst he'd been at home; but now, of course, everything was different. Tamwar had been around him enough in the last few months to see the effect that Christian had had upon him. The older man was seemingly obsessed with Syed's hair, using it as some sort of reassurance or worry bead whenever he needed to. Even though he tried his level best to avert his gaze – he wasn't prejudiced, he didn't have a problem, but he just wasn't, well, _used _to it yet – whenever they showed any affection, it hadn't escaped his notice that Christian's fingers were forever entangled in his brother's hair.

It was something that Syed seemed to have picked up on. Something else that was new about him.

"I don't know," Tamwar was brought thudding back into reality as he heard Syed's voice crack with hesitancy and uncertainty. "We…we fought, we argued, we blew up and now…now I don't know whether he wants to see me again. I don't know what to do. A part of me wants to wring his neck but the other part of me just wants to…just wants to go back and forget that anything ever happened."

"Yeah, well, biologically I'd say it's bit late for that now," Tamwar muttered, just loudly enough for his words to register but softly enough for them not to sound as harsh as he was sure they could. Syed looked up at him, eyes scanning his face before he dropped his gaze and let out a grating huff of a laugh.

"That's my problem, right there," he focused his gaze back on his hands. "This isn't something we can just brush under the carpet and pretend it didn't happen because this could…I mean, this could be for _life_. How could he have been so _stupid_?"

Tamwar shrugged, his shoulders shivering slightly as the wind seemed to pick up in response to the gesture.

"Because…I don't know…because he's _Christian_. He's always been like that. You know that; I know that; we all know that. You _chose _that, remember?"

"Yes, but I didn't choose this," Syed closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb and forefingers against his temple. "This goes beyond _anything _else. This isn't a stupid, drunken kiss on New Year's Eve – this is a kid's life. It's _my _life. Roxy could be pregnant with his child, and then what happens to me? Do I just let them go along with it without telling them once what I really think? I can't just let them push me to one side like _I don't count_"

"So don't."

"I didn't. That's the problem. I told him what I think, he told me what he thinks – and here we are. I don't know if me not wanting to have a kid with him is more important than me wanting to be with him. I don't know if I love him more than I hate this idea. I don't even know if I'm making any sense. What am I gonna do, Tam?"

Tamwar leant backwards, away from Syed's desperate, grasping gaze, throwing his hands defensively in the air as he did so.

"Wait, you called me to ask my _advice_?"

"Why else would I call you?"

"Well, maybe you should have considered the fact that my love life has been totted up to a big fat zero until just recently. I'm still freaking out over the whole _her father tried to kill my mother_ thing, which is obviously a perfectly normal, average problem to come up against when trying to work your way 'round a relationship."

Syed looked at him blankly, his brow creasing as his eyes scanned Tamwar's face.

"What?"

"I'm not exactly the fountain of all knowledge when it comes to relationships, okay?"

A tiny smile spread across Syed's face as he turned away, resting his weight on his elbows once again as he returned his gaze to the near distance.

"D'you remember I once asked you when you got be so wise, and you told me that you always had been but I just hadn't noticed?"

There was a brief pause and then a hesitant nod.

"I sat here for ages, running over everything in my head and not _getting _anywhere – and, when I realised that I couldn't do it on my own, you were the first and only person I wanted to talk to. Why is that, little bro?"

Tamwar shrugged again, pressing his hands together in his lap and shaking his head.

"Because you're clinically insane, maybe?"

"Because you _are _wise. You see the bigger picture in a way I never can because I'm so wrapped up in all my own rubbish. You didn't just rush in with Afia because you saw that if you waited and did it _right_, then maybe they'd accept it. I wanted you to do it then and there because I wanted you to stand up for yourself, but you saw everything from…I don't know…a better vantage point, maybe. I need someone with a good view in this, Tam. I need someone who will tell me straight what he sees and what he thinks I should do about it, not someone whose going to bombard me with their own opinions. I don't need someone who's going to take sides, because me and Christian…well, we pretty much did that ourselves already and we don't need anyone wading in to make it worse."

Tamwar sank back into the bench as Syed spoke, extricating his hands from the warmth of his legs and wrapping them around his torso. He sat for a few minutes as his brother finished speaking, hugging tightly onto himself as he bit the inside of his cheek and stared outwards into the dark greenery of the park.

"Okay," he paused for a moment, shuffling through things in his head in an attempt to put it all in order. "You want me to tell you what to do?"

Syed looked to the side and back again, an action that was almost a shrug with his eyes.

"Yeah – I want you to tell me what to do."

"D'you still love him?"

Syed's nostrils flared at that, his whole body stiffening.

"Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

"I dunno," Tamwar pulled back defensively. "Just had to check. I mean, you're acting like it's…never mind. Does he know?"

He was met with a look that managed to be both blankly questioning and frighteningly dangerous.

"Know what?"

"That you still love him."

There was a rush of air as Syed opened his mouth to retort, his eyes flashing for a brief moment before a sudden coldness seemed to descend. His mouth softened; his jaw loosening as he sank back into the bench.

"I don't know. He thinks I hate him. I told him that. I mean, he wanted me to tell him; he pushed and he pushed and he pushed and it just…came out. I didn't mean it."

Tamwar raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," for the first time that night, Syed was emphatically certain, his words dripping with conviction. "I hate what he's done; I hate what's happening; I hate the fact that he didn't talk to me, or ask me, or even go over it with me before he went through with it. I hate that he's chosen Roxy of all people. I hate that I'm shut out. I hate that he didn't give me a second thought; that he betrayed my trust. I hate that every single moral teaching in my head is screaming at me not to do it and yet I let him do it anyway. I hate that I didn't let him in when he asked; that I didn't tell him how I really felt. I hate that he didn't go and read a book when I asked him to. I hate that he's not a Muslim and that however hard we both try he is never going to understand. I hate _all that_, but I don't and never will hate _him_."

Syed stopped to breathe, as if he had been suffocating under the weight of his words. Tamwar gave him a few moments of space as he sucked the oxygen into his lungs, leaning away from his brother slightly as he watched him gather himself together. As soon as Syed's breathing had evened out and his tense shoulders had lowered to a more natural level, Tamwar sucked in a breath and spoke again.

"So tell him."

"How can I?"

"Open your mouth and vibrate your vocal chords, that usually works for me."

"I'm serious, Tam," Syed looked at him, his whole face drained and tired. "How can I tell him all that? How can we possibly get through this? I can't see a way out even if _I _know all that, because _he _doesn't and he'll never understand."

"So make him understand. Talk to him. Give him a lesson or something, I don't know. I've been a Muslim my whole life and I still struggle with some of it – so he's got exactly zero chance unless you put some effort in too. Unless you tell him."

"What? Tell him that my religion forbids us from ever having a proper family? It'd break his heart."

"Not as much as losing you would."

The wind rustled through the trees, the leaves seeming to whistle in encouragement as the words sank through Syed's shell. Tamwar watched his thought processes play out on his eyes, the whites reddened and covered with a film of gentle moisture as he struggled to keep his mouth even.

"And I don't want to lose him," his lip quivered slightly before he could catch it. "I don't want to lose him, Tam. I don't want to lose him more than I don't want to go against our faith. And I think that makes me a bad Muslim, but I can't help it. I can't. I love him and I don't ever want him to think that I don't."

Tamwar smile a tiny, sad smile, glancing down at the floor awkwardly – just as he always did whenever he heard his brother expressing his obvious adoration for the other man - before raising his gaze back to Syed's eyes.

"You know, in the past year I've been convinced so many times that mum and dad had gone beyond the point of no return, like there was no way of fixing them after…" he stopped as Syed winced, quickly skipping over the words that had threatened to leave his mouth. "…anyway, what I'm trying to say is that they got through that. They got through it because they love each other, no matter how impossible they can be at times, and they wanted to fight for it."

He glanced upwards, meeting his brother's gaze.

"We all lost something when you and Christian got together. I lost my brother…"

"Tam, you didn't lose me."

"Well, I have to see you in secret, without mum and dad knowing, and that's not great, is it Syed? Not exactly the way I envisioned it would be. Like, if they find out that I'm visiting my own brother, they're going to lock me in my room and not let me speak to another human being for the rest of my life. Or they'll pack me off to some business rival's bride in order to make a sound investment whilst at the same time punishing me for the heinous crime of speaking to my own flesh and blood."

"I'm sorry, Tam," Syed's voice cut in, sadness permeating his tone. "You know I didn't want this."

"You did. You wanted him, and you love him, and even though I'll never understand that, I know it and accept it. Just…you gave up so much. Don't throw that away over this. It deserves to be fought for. In my opinion, that is. But, you know, you do what you want, because I'm still convinced I'm not the one you need to be talking to."

Syed scoffed slightly, his eyes soft as he surveyed his little brother fondly.

"Who should I be talking to then?"

"Him," Tamwar smiled encouragingly before checking his watch, jumping to his feet as the time registered in his brain. "I really need to go: the prospect of staring at my bedroom wall for the next twenty years is not a pleasant one, so I'd be keen to avoid it at all costs. If that's okay with you?"

Syed nodded, his eyes burning into Tamwar's as he sent a reassuring wave of his hand in Syed's general direction before turning to leave.

"Wait, Tam!"

Tamwar stopped in his tracks, rocking slightly awkwardly on his heels as he turned to face his brother. Syed had managed to haul himself to his feet, standing slightly hesitantly before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around his little brother.

His embrace was stiff and uncertain, like the majority of their hugs – and there hadn't been that many to choose from – had always been. Tamwar waited a few seconds before raising his own frozen limbs, resting his palms on Syed's back in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. They stood in the awkward embrace for a few moments, arms knocking against one another and elbows digging uncomfortably into flesh as their very different bodies were pressed together.

It wasn't long before Syed pulled away, his hands immediately delving into his pockets as he took a step backwards and flashed a slightly awkward smile.

"Thanks, Tambo."

Tamwar threw out his arms a little and shrugged his shoulders.

"I aim to serve."

And then his mind was once again focused on the task at hand; on getting back to the house before his parents would notice that he had slipped away. He was certain they would think he'd been with Afia, and he wasn't sure which answer _– yes, I was with Afia_ or _no, I was with my brother - y'know, the one you disowned for falling in love with another man _ - would get him into the biggest trouble. All he was sure of was that he needed to get back before they discovered he was gone; that way was much less complicated and lot less messy for all involved.

He did glance back, however, as he made his way towards home; scanning the park and nearby streets before turning back with a sense of – was that satisfaction or smugness? – running through his veins.

Syed had gone.

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**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading! _

_I do so love Tamwar. Especially with how he reacted to Syed and Christian getting together - his acceptance and also his awkward, geeky wisdom has burned him into my heart forever. He's also a helluva lot of fun to write for. I hope I got him right; if you have any comments or suggestions, please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!  
_


	4. Salvaging

**Title:** The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)  
**Chapter:** 4/5 (ish)**  
Fandom:** EastEnders  
**Characters:** Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.  
**Pairings:** Christian/Syed  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until Thursday 27th January '11

**Summary: **The true challenge in any relationship comes not in times of peace, but in times of conflict. Can Christian and Syed rebuild from the rubble of their first major fall out? Or has the baby issue just taken them too far?

A/N: Hello again! Sorry this is a little later than you may have been expecting (I gave all my lame, pathetic excuses in the last chapter - refer back if you want to roll your eyes again). I also had a little bit of a crisis of confidence - let's just say, I was having a not-so-good day, and everything kind of piled on top of me. As some of you will know, most of my fanfiction life has been spent in the Torchwood fandom; I have carved myself a place in that fandom, I have followers who read my work, and I have gotten used to the quite review-heavy nature of the fandom itself. So writing for this new fandom has been a complete shock - to have to re-establish myself and also get used to the fact there will be less reviews. I had a little mini breakdown and declared that the reason no one was reviewing (save a few) was because it either sucked or they weren't reading it. Which I know is not true, so please bear with me whilst I kind of snuggle down into this fandom more and get to know my bearings a little bettter.

For the record, I loved writing this chapter. Big sister/little brother dynamics are always a favourite with me, having a little brother myself who I simultaneously despise but adore; a brother I would readily kick but would happily die for. I find sibling relationships to be so satisfying and interesting, and I love Jane anyway. I just hope I've done her and her relationship with Christian justice.

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**Chapter 4: Salvaging**

_'Sometimes love is right where you're hating most.'  
_~  
Christmas Eve  
(from the musical Avenue Q)

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Jane emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hands, the warmth of the tea radiating through the sides and into her freezing palms. She'd briefly contemplated coffee, in order to perhaps raise her brother's spirits and put him into a more – well – _perky _state of mind, but one glance over at his hunched frame had told her that tea would be best.

They were British, after all. The only real solution to a problem was alcohol or tea – those were the rules, the tried and tested rules that had worked fine for many years, thank you very much – and she had a not-so-sneaking suspicion that alcohol was the last thing Christian needed right now.

She cleared her throat softly as she neared the sofa, handing the mug to her brother before nudging his leg gently with her own. He complied swiftly, shuffling up to allow her room to sit down; the cushion was clutched to his chest again, like a favourite toy that had had the life squeezed out of it. A smile threatened to dance across her lips as she remembered him as a child, hugging his most precious toy into him whenever he was nervous or afraid; but she quickly knocked it away before it could manifest itself.

"Right," she took a sip from her own mug, placing her faith almost entirely in the confidence-building abilities of the warm liquid, before placing it on the floor by her feet and clapping her hands together. "Shall we go over this again? What exactly have you done?"

Christian's arms seemed to tighten briefly around the cushion, the edges bulging outwards as the pressure increased.

"I've screwed up, Jane," his voice was very quiet, his tone reminding her painfully of those months when he had longed for Syed from afar – how she had wanted to help, to reach out and reassure him, but all the while knowing that the only thing that could fix it was the impossible. "I've pushed him too far. I don't think he's coming back."

"Why?" she twisted her fingers in her lap, flashing what she hoped was a reassuringly bright smile. "Couples have problems, Christian – that's what I told Syed after you screwed up last time, remember? He forgave you then, who's to say it'll be any different this time."

He shook his head.

"You don't understand. This is different. This is _big_."

"What don't I understand?" she raised an eyebrow, releasing her hands so that she could cross her arms and lean towards him. "Whatever it is, you need to talk to him, sort it out. It's the only way to deal with things like this, and if he's not prepared to do that then he's really not ready for a relationship, is he? Hell, after everything that happened last year, I'd say that he owes you a few…"

"Don't, Jane," Christian closed his eyes wearily and let his head fall back onto the couch. "Not now. Not helpful."

Jane bit down on her tongue, tasting the tiniest metallic hint as she swallowed it back.

"Okay. I won't mention that. At least, I'll try not to," she held up her hands as Christian shot her a glare that burned straight through her. "Alright, I definitely won't! I promise! Now," she bent to pick up her mug, tipping it to her lips. "- when you say big, what kind of _big_ are we talking about? I mean, whatever it is, you're strong together – whatever it is, it can't be so bad that…"

"I might have got Roxy pregnant."

Jane inhaled hot tea rather than air, the liquid burning her throat and causing her to splutter. A hard hand rested on her back, thumping a few times as the lack of oxygen brought tears to her eyes; a few more well aimed thumps and she had dispelled the tea from her lungs, her eyes brimming with confusion as she looked incredulously at Christian's passive gaze.

"You did _what_? I mean, that's not possible…you…you've always been…_Roxy_…seriously, I…"

"You don't need to worry," he tilted his head to a look at her, a smile that carried absolutely no humour twitching at his mouth. "I haven't turned straight all of a sudden. She said she'd be a surrogate for us, so it was more test tubes and turkey basters than passion and romance."

Jane could feel her mouth hanging open – it wasn't a particularly attractive look, but she made no moves to lift her jaw.

"You were planning on…hang on…have I missed something quite important here?" she took another, more cautious mouthful of tea, gulping it down as if it were some form of sedative. "You and Syed, you were…you were trying for a baby?"

The forced humour and nonchalance seemed to melt away from Christian's eyes, his whole face sagging slightly as he loosened his grip dejectedly on the abused cushion. For a moment, Jane was shocked by how old he looked; that intolerably annoying youthfulness had seemed to flee, leaving him looking tired and down-trodden and…and _middle aged_.

_When did _that _happen?  
_

"I thought we were," he swallowed gently, his voice so quiet that Jane had to lean in to hear him. "I thought that…he was so _excited_, Jane, he was so _happy_, when he thought that Amira was pregnant. He wanted that more than he wanted me, more than he wanted _us_; to be a dad, that was all he wanted. So, I thought that…"

"You thought it would be okay," it wasn't a question, more a statement of fact as Jane heard Christian beginning to stumble over his words. "And, I'm guessing from all this that it wasn't okay?"

Christian hung his head, his eyes sliding closed as he remained silent – save for the loud sigh that huffed, unbidden, between his lips.

"Christian…"

"What does it matter, Jane?" he thumped a hand down on the cushion on his stomach, his neck jerking upright so that he could look just past her shoulder; but not at her, not yet. "I screwed up. I thought he wanted a kid. So I ploughed straight in there, only it turns out he doesn't want a kid after all. No, goes against his whole religion, apparently, just like him and me and he's never really forgiven me for that, you realise? But he didn't feel like telling me this until _after_ Roxy'd got jiggy with a turkey baster, now Roxy might be pregnant with my child and I've lost him. He's gone, Jane. I don't need you to fix it; I need you to make me feel better."

He lifted the mug violently to his lips, taking a great gulp before his face contorted in disgust.

"And I could really have done with something stronger, you know?" slamming the mug down on the floor he made to get to his feet, only for strong fingers to close around his wrist and yank him back down. He turned with the force of it, finding himself staring into the eyes of his sister; the eyes that were now spitting the kind of fire that only a big sister can inflict on a younger brother.

"You," she jabbed him in the chest. "are _not_ giving up on this, Christian. You are not just falling at the first hurdle. Not after everything you went through to get him, I mean...God! We all screw up, Christian, that's part of being in a relationship. It's not about the easy bits; its about the hard parts. And you _can _get through this. We make mistakes; we move on from it…I mean, look at me."

Christian rolled his eyes, but he didn't pull away – Jane saw this as a good sign.

"You almost slept with another man – you didn't impregnate your best friend without checking that your boyfriend was happy with the plan first."

Jane paused for a second, her brow furrowing before she nodded.

"No, I didn't. You're right. But I have screwed up big time, more than once, and if you keep clinging to what you've done rather than what you can do – well, you'll always be going backwards. You can't live your life in reverse. You've got to live for the future."

Her face softened slightly as she reached forward, placing her hand on Christian's shoulder and rubbing her thumb in small circles.

"And I really wouldn't mind becoming an Aunty."

Christian looked at her then, really looked at her; his eyes took on a watery sheen, his jaw-line tightening as he flashed her the thinnest smile she had seen in a long time.

"I know," he was speaking as though he was underwater, the slight gurgling sound seeping through as he fought against the lump in his throat. "I just wanted to be a family, Jane. I wanted to give him what he thought he was giving up when he chose me."

He stopped suddenly, closing his eyes and leaning into his sister's touch as a single tear gathered at the corner of his eye. His mouth seemed to grow impossibly tight, his whole jaw shaking slightly with the effort of holding back what was lurking just beneath the surface.

"No," he shook his head, the motion knocking the tear away from his eyelash so that it slithered down his cheek. "It wasn't for him. It was for me. I wanted a family with him, Jane, is that really such a terrible thing for me to want?"

"Of course it's not," she dropped her hand from his shoulder to she could grab for his hand. "But you've got to give him time. Not that I ever thought I'd defend him, especially after…well, you know…but this is like a whole new world for him. He might come 'round, eventually."

There was an intake of breath as Christian's mouth distorted slightly, his lips curling inwards over his teeth as if he could push everything back down his throat. His fingers tightened around Jane's hand, grasping onto them for comfort just like he had when he was a child. They'd always been there for each other, and it broke her heart – and Christian's as well, she knew that – to think they'd wasted so many years when they'd needed each other the most.

"He blames me, you know."

"For what? Getting Roxy pregnant?"

"No," his eyes flashed. "And she's not pregnant. Not yet. At least, not as far as we know."

Jane frowned.

"What does he blame you for, Christian?"

"Everything," he whispered, shaking his head as he did so. "For getting him to the point where he went against his faith; for taking him away from his family; for isolating him; just, generally, everything that could wrong is my fault. S'how he makes me feel sometimes. He gave up _everything_ for me, Jane – he gave up his whole life, and I am _never_ going to be perfect enough to match up to that."

An almost silent sob cut at his throat as he took in a breath.

"I can't make it better for him. I'll always make it worse. I can't fix it."

Jane could feel a lump forming in her own throat; Christian's pain just rolled off him, like a vapour dancing in the air and forcing its way into her lungs. She gripped his hand, the force of her fingers pushing it down into the fabric of the sofa.

"He doesn't want you to be perfect. He wants you to try."

"I don't know why I ever thought it was going to work. We're like…complete opposites. Completely different cultures and faith and religion and morals and…he still sees this as wrong. That hurts; it hurts so much more than it did before because at least then I _knew_ that was how he felt. But now we're together and he still…"

"Hey," Jane pulled him forward as his face crumpled, wrapping her arms around him and shushing him like a child as he sobbed into her shoulder. A large part of her, the part of her that was big sister and nothing else, wanted to march over to Syed (wherever he was) and make sure he had enough scars to remind him never to hurt her brother again. But then there was the other part; the part that was less big sister and more woman of the world; and that part knew that she couldn't blame Syed anymore than she could blame Christian.

They were like stags butting antlers; so similar that they clashed, as if somehow the extremes of their difference made them the same. They were both intrigued by the other, eager to know – just as likely as the other to scratch at just the wrong bit in the quest to discover each other.

"He's just angry," she rubbed the palm of her hand across his shivering shoulders. "He loves you. Whatever he says or does or however bad it gets between you, don't ever think that he doesn't. Even when he was treating you in…_that way_…you could see that he loved you. He doesn't think you're wrong, he just…he just needs someone to blame. And he can't let it all out at his parents if they won't talk to him, so you're the nearest he can get to."

Her shoulder was wet with his tears, the warm dampness seeping through her clothes and onto her skin.

"Just give him time," she said again, pulling back as she felt his sobs beginning to recede; she reached out to wipe away his tears with her thumbs. "And pull yourself together, you drama queen; you're reinforcing a stereotype, and I will _not_ be putting up with that."

He laughed at that. _Properly_ laughed, however husky the breath sounded against his windpipe. She was reminded, not for the first time, just how much she enjoyed seeing him smile.

"But, Roxy…"

"…might not be pregnant," she straightened the front of his crumpled top, pulling it down at the sides where it had bunched beneath his armpits. "And, if she is – which is unlikely – you'll deal with it. You're a couple. You're in a relationship. And that's what you learn to do. You just haven't figured it out yet; it takes practice, but we all get there in the end."

Christian raised a hand, pressing his fingers against the corner of his eye as if to scoop out the last remnants of the tears.

"I don't know how to do this."

"Well…" she pulled back and tried to inject some sort of wisdom into her voice. "You just have to try. You've got the anger and the frustration out of the way, and that's a very good start, however crap it might feel at the minute. Means you can actually talk about it without ripping each other's throats out. Because you love each other. And love's a very…well…uncertain and emotional thing. It can get you into the worst rows you've ever been in, but then it can get you out again."

Christian seemed to consider this for a few minutes, the shiny film over his eyes beginning to dissipate slightly. He reached out for her hand again, threading their fingers together and squeezing down tightly.

"Can I tell you something?"

She nodded gently, the gesture prompting him to loosen his tightening grip so their palms were just pressed together.

"There were times…" he swallowed hard, looking over her shoulder as if he wasn't quite sure how to meet her gaze. "When I wasn't sure whether I loved him or hated him. Sometimes it felt like I loved him so much that I _had_ to hate him as well. And, there were these times…I loved him so much it felt like I could just reach out, and put my hands around his neck… just kill him there and then, because at least then he could never walk out of that door again."

"And there were times when I wanted you to do that," the voice cut through Christian's shaky breath, snapping the two siblings out of their reverie and forcing their gazes towards the door. "Because then I wouldn't have to leave. Because I never wanted to. Because I always wanted to be with you. Because…"

Syed stopped, his fists tightening around the keys in his hand as his gaze focused on the ground. Christian wanted more than anything to jump and pull him into a hug, to tug him as close as he possibly could, but he felt rooted to the couch. His hand seemed to be melded with Jane's fingers as his grip suddenly tightened, causing a hiss to escape from her lips.

Eventually the younger man looked up, catching Christian's gaze for a brief second before dropping his eyes to the side.

"Because I love you. And I don't…I don't want to lose that. Ever again."

Christian's tongue seemed to loosen suddenly, a torrent of letters and syllables and sounds flooding to the back of his throat.

"Syed…I…" too many to put together, each one blocking the others as it fought to escape. "I don't want to…I mean…I…"

"Well, then," Jane patted Christian's knee, sending a glance in both of their directions before hauling herself up from the couch. "I'd better be off. You boys make sure you sort this out…or you'll have me to deal with."

With that she grabbed her coat from the arm of the chair, pulling it on and smiling reassuringly as she exited the flat and shut the door behind her.

And then there was silence. The two men averted their gazes, neither of them quite sure what to do beyond the initial 'I love you! Don't leave me!' of a few seconds before.

There was one thing they both shared at that point; one thought that ran constant between them.

_Now what?_

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_TBC_

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Thank you for reading!

Only one more to go and then maybe an epilogue. Will the boys work it out? Will they come out the other side stronger? You'll have to wait and see! Remember, if you have any suggestions or comments or criticism, I would love to hear them!


	5. Laying Stronger Foundations

**Title:** The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)  
**Chapter:** 5/5**  
Fandom:** EastEnders  
**Characters:** Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.  
**Pairings:** Christian/Syed  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until Thursday 27th January '11

**Summary: **The true challenge in any relationship comes not in times of peace, but in times of conflict. Can Christian and Syed rebuild from the rubble of their first major fall out? Or has the baby issue just taken them too far?

**A/N:** So, here we are. The end. I thought that this would be a much longer chapter, but I wasn't about to force more than was needed. Having read a spoiler for the next episode they're in (TOMORROW!) I realised just how much the writers seem to have missed out in terms of character development and plot. So this was skewed towards the new spoilers I have read - to try and make fit what seems to make no sense. Also, I'd like to send a huge thank you out to everyone who has helped to ease my entrance into this fandom; without your support and your guidance and your commitment, I think I may have fled at the first hurdle. So thank you. I hope I have ended this right for you, because it is _for_ you.

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**The Hard Part**

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_"Since nothing we intend is ever faultless, and nothing we attempt ever without error, and nothing we achieve without some measure of finitude and fallibility we call humanness, we are saved by forgiveness."_

David Augsnurger

x

Christian was the first to crumble under the pressure of the silence; just like he had done just hours – or was it, as he suspected, weeks? – previously.

"Sy…," he said quietly, hauling himself up from the sofa so he could look Syed square in the eye. Or attempt to, at least. The best he could do was let his eyes rest on the lock of stray hair that hung down over his forehead - the closest he could possibly get without feeling the weight of his guilt, and what was left of his anger, pressing intolerably against his chest. Despite the movement, he made sure that he kept the sofa between them; like a low barrier over which they could see one another but, thankfully, couldn't succumb to the temptation to reach out and touch.

"Sy…I'm sorry…I just…"

"No, Christian," Syed put a hand to his forehead, rubbing the tips of his fingers over the bridge of his nose. "It's too late."

Christian felt his chest plummet to the floor, his stomach seeming to split as everything inside him – his organs, his blood, his soul, his _heart_ – spilled out before he could catch them.

Syed seemed to register as the blood drained from his face, the eyes of the younger man widening suddenly as he took a frantic step forward – hand outstretched so that, if he had been just a few metres further forward, it would have been resting reassuringly over Christian's heart.

"No!" he flashed a quick smile, which was obviously more for Christian's benefit than his own. "I didn't mean that…I didn't…I meant…that it's late. The time. I'm just…I'm too tired to do this now. I think we should sleep on it. Deal with it in the morning."

The blood seemed to rush back into Christian's head with a terrifying force, the _thumpa-thumpa_ sweeping through his brain and filling his cheeks with crimson. He licked his lips and nodded once, mirroring Syed's unconvincing smile as he shifted on his feet.

"Oh…yeah…'course. In the morning," he reached down to retrieve the now-cold mug of tea from the floor, wrapping it tightly in his grip before making his way to the kitchen. As he threw it unceremoniously into the sink he turned, tilting his head to look at Syed. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Syed wrapped his arms around his torso, shivering slightly as he rubbed his hands over the tops of his arms. "You got any spare blankets?"

Christian stopped halfway through what he was doing, the tap running cold water over his hand as he glanced confusedly over his shoulder.

"Sure," he frowned, barely noticing as his fingers began to turn red beneath the stream. "Why?"

"Watch out," Syed put his hands on his hips and wandered into the kitchen, leaning back against the wall. "You're wasting water."

"What? Oh," he fumbled with the handle, quickly turning off the freezing torrent. "Thanks. So…blankets…why?"

"Well, when my parent's used to fight one of them would sleep on the couch for the night. It just seems that, if we're going to go to bed without solving this first, then it would be best if I…"

"No," Christian shook his head emphatically, the sharpness of his tone cutting Syed short. A frown creased the brow of the younger man, his nostrils seeming to flare slightly as his lips tightened into a thin line.

"Well, we can't very well sleep in the same bed, can we?" his arms crossed defensively. "I mean, we can't. We just can't. Please don't…"

"I'll take the couch," Christian dried his hands calmly on a towel, his tight expression the only real sign that he was holding anything more inside him. "Seems only fair – I'll go get the blankets."

Syed let out a sigh as Christian disappeared out of the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a sheet folded over his arm.

"No, Christian. I said I'd sleep on the couch. You can't."

"Why?"

"Because it's your flat!" Syed all but exploded, his arms coming up to emphasise his point before dropping dejectedly to his side. Christian sucked in a breath, his whole body stopping as he reached the couch; his arms seemed to tense beneath the sheet, the veins bulging from his clenched fist.

His tight form would have been intimidating if it wasn't for the sadness that radiated from every pore.

"It's not my flat," he glanced at Syed. "It's your flat too. It's our flat. Both of us. It was yours from the moment you moved in – it was yours before that, even. I just wish I knew how to convince you of that."

Syed took a step forward, arm reaching out as if to rest on Christian's shoulder – but he quickly dropped it, burying his hand in his pocket to avoid further temptation.

"You don't have to," he let out a breath. "You know, let's not fight about who sleeps where. Not after everything else. I don't want to," he sighed suddenly, extricating his hand from his pocket so that he could rub at the back of his neck. "You want the couch?"

"Yeah," Christian shifted, his frozen form beginning to melt slightly under the warmth of broken tension. "I think I need to."

With that he moved further into the room, unfolding the sheet from beneath his arm and spreading it out over hard form of the sofa. Syed watched him as he arranged the thin covering, hovering slightly before turning around and darting away from the living room. With quick, almost fumbling fingers, he grabbed hold of the pillow from Christian's side of the bed and returned swiftly into the main area of the flat.

"Here," he nudged it against Christian's arm once the older man had rid himself of his shirt. "You don't need to be pulling a muscle whilst you're there. You'd never live it down with your clients."

Christian stared at his offering for a few seconds, before he reached out slowly and took a hold of one corner. That should have been Syed's cue to let go – only, he stayed where he was, his fingers gripping onto the fabric so that it hovered between them. Christian licked his lips, glancing downwards at where their hands were – almost – joined together.

"I know that you don't want to talk about it, Sy, and I get that, I do, but…" Christian stopped, his fingers clenching around the soft material as if he could send electric shots through into Syed's hand. "I need you to tell me that you love me. I just need to hear it. Tell me that you love me."

The _please_ remained unspoken, and yet Christian knew that it had been heard. Syed's fingers tightened on the pillow, his fingertips digging deep trenches into the outer lining of the fabric.

"I love you," he said finally, his eyes meeting Christian's properly for the first time. "I really do love you."

A tiny smile quirked at Christian's mouth as Syed let his grip on the pillow loosen. As the weight was transferred to him he took it in both hands, plumping it to give it back its shape before tucking it between the arm and back of the couch. Syed lingered for a few seconds before turning to the bed – only for Christian's voice to stop him halfway.

"I love you, too."

There was a beat before Syed looked over his shoulder, flashing him a sad smile as he lay down on the couch and curled under the sheet.

"Goodnight, Christian."

x

x

Syed awoke to the smell of cooking and the sound of bustling in the kitchen. It took him a few minutes to regain his faculties, his arm reaching out instinctively to Christian's side of the bed. The cold emptiness of the sheets shook him awake – suddenly the bed felt very big around him, swamping him with its vast emptiness.

"Hey."

The sound of Christian's voice rang through his muddled brain, drawing him away from the size of the bed and into reality. He hauled himself up, the duvet pooling around his waist as Christian approached and set a rattling tray down in front of him.

"It's not much," Christian settled himself down on the edge of the bed, drawing his dressing gown around his body. "We didn't have much in. I put some ground pepper in the scrambled eggs, just the way you like it – and the orange juice, it's freshly squeezed as well. Did it myself. And it's harder than it looks – those oranges are tough."

Syed smiled tightly, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip – tactfully ignoring the pip that butted against his lips as Christian looked on eagerly.

"Wow," he put the glass back down, surveying the food on the tray. "You did this all for me?"

Christian nodded.

"Why?"

"Just felt like it, I guess," he ducked his head suddenly, his mouth tightening guiltily as he avoided Syed's gaze. "And…and because I kinda hoped that, maybe, you'd forgive me and take me back."

His voice was quiet, so quiet that Syed had had to strain to hear him. Syed suddenly felt his appetite melting away, his stomach dropping slightly as he took in the worried, guilty lines crumpling Christian's face.

"Take you back?" he shuffled forwards, ignoring the corner of the tray as it poked into his stomach. "I never left you."

Christian looked doubtful, his face crumpling – despite the simmering anger and frustrations; the knowledge that they had to _talk_ about this like serious adults if they wanted to move on; all Syed wanted to do was lean forward and kiss those lines away.

"I didn't," his hand hovered over Christian's tentatively. "I was angry with you. You were angry with me. I had to get out and clear my head, to…to talk to someone else about it before I came back. I was always going to come back. I promise I was always going to come back. I won't leave you. I love you."

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew how empty his promises could sound. Hadn't he made them before? So many, many times? He could feel it now, that lingering fear which rolled off Christian in waves – that still-there terror that one day Syed was going to up and leave, just like he always had in the past. Syed suspected it was that fear which had made him lash out like that last night. Not that that excused it, not in the slightest – it had hurt, hurt _badly_, but at least Syed knew partly where it had come from.

"I'm sorry," Christian's voice speared into his thoughts; Syed let his hand rest just beside Christian's fingers, desperate for that neutral ground between grabbing him close and shying away. "I was stupid. I didn't think. I should have asked you, spoken to you, _listened_ to you – but I didn't and I know that was wrong and I just…"

"And I should have been more clear, rather than holding back and just expecting you to understand. I should have let you in, but I didn't. I wish I had."

But Christian was shaking his head, the movement making the tray rattle unsettling in Syed's lap.

"No. I need to take some responsibility for this," his jaw set as he spoke, a determination rippling through every muscle. "I need to let myself feel guilty for a bit. I need to explain myself. I just…I just wanted us to be normal, to be _real_ and I thought that part of that was…I dunno…bringing a kid into it. Which was stupid and hasty and I should have thought it through, but I didn't. It's just…all I could think of was how excited you were last time…

"Last time?" Syed frowned, slightly unwilling to break into Christian's stream but, at the same time, not wanting to let misunderstanding wrap them up in its tangled web again. "What do you mean?"

"With Amira."

"What?" Syed laughed slightly, his fingers inching ever closer to Christian's hand. "I wasn't excited I was…I was so _scared_, Christian. I was terrified – not just because it was a baby, but because it meant that I was trapped, that there was no way out. I didn't know what to do. I was so confused. Maybe excitement was in there a little bit, but you read me all wrong if you think that I was _happy_. I wasn't."

Christian's brow knitted together, his neck tensing as he raised his gaze to look into Syed's eyes.

"Really?"

"Yeah," the urge to thread their fingers together was oh-so-tempting, Christian's hand pulling at him like a magnet against iron. "The way I treated you then…it was 'coz I was scared, not because I wanted it. I pushed you away because it felt like the only thing I could do. I wish I hadn't. I regret that every single second of every single day – I hurt you, and that's _my _fault – not yours, not Amira's, not my family's, no one but me."

For a moment he thought that Christian was going to hook an arm around his neck and pull him close; to hug him against his chest, kiss his hair, and tell him that everything was going to be alright. That's what he'd always wanted from Christian; that's what Christian had always offered. But one glance up at Christian's tight lips, trembling jaw and reddened eyes told him that this situation was different – that their roles were very, very different to what they had always been before.

"I'm sorry," Christian seemed to choke, swallowing back before trying again. "I am so, _so _sorry. I forget, sometimes, what you gave up to be with me. I don't know how I do, but I do. And I just…_assumed_…that everything was going to be okay for you. Like I knew what was best. I betrayed you, Sy…worse than what I did on New Year's Eve…I ignored you and I broke something, some kind of _trust_ that was there before. And now Roxy might be pregnant, and I might have broken the one chance you had to fix things with your family and I wouldn't blame you, Sy, I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again. I wouldn't forgive me if I was in your shoes."

Something broke in Syed – a torrent of emotion pushing through his barriers and sweeping away all that anger and frustration that had been simmering in his mind for so long. That look in Christian's eyes – that guilt, that self pity, that self-hatred, that hurt – was something he had seen in himself when he'd glanced into the mirror on his wedding night. That knowledge that he had done something irreversible, something that would change their lives forever…something that had taken Christian's heart and stomped it into the floor…

"Hey," he moved the tray to the side, crawling out from the under the covers so that he was knelt in front of Christian's quietly shivering form. The older man looked up at him, his face tense and his eyes dripping with unshed moisture.

"It's okay," Syed slid his hands up Christian's arms. "It's all okay."

Then he cupped Christian's face in his palms, tilting his head forward and pressing his lips gently, lingeringly, against the frown lines of his forehead.

There was a brief pause as he moved backwards, Christian's eyes flicking suspiciously across Syed's face, as if he daren't believe – but Syed didn't turn away. Unlike Christian, over a year ago now, he didn't have to turn and walk in the other direction. He never had to, never again. Instead, before he knew it, they'd both moved forward: Christian's arms wrapping around his back as Syed cupped the back of his head, cradling it as it nestled between his neck and his shoulder.

They stayed locked in that position for a few minutes, rocking gently against one another – no tears, no sobs, just gentle, slow breaths as they let themselves reconnect after the vast explosion of their row last night.

Eventually Christian pulled away, a thin, moist film still lingering on his eyes despite the fact that the redness had retreated back into his veins. He took a deep breath, licking his lips as he let his gaze rest uncertainly on Syed's features.

"So, we're…"

"We're okay," Syed smiled, reaching out and loosely threading their fingers together.

The relief that flashed across Christian's face was momentary, but it sent a wave of pleasure shooting through Syed's brain.

"But what about Roxy? She might not be pregnant, but…"

"We'll deal with it," Syed's fingers tightened against Christian's; feeling the thrum of his pulse through his hand. "I hope she isn't but if she is, then we'll deal with it. We have to. And…who knows what I'll think then. Eight months ago, I would have believed…I _did_ believe…that _this_ was wrong; but I don't feel that now, in any way. They told me I couldn't be a good Muslim if I was with you, but you make me a _better_ Muslim, because I'm happy and I can be a better person when I'm with you. So maybe…maybe my mind'll change. I know what I think now, but maybe…it's changed before. I don't know."

Christian waited for a few seconds, his eyes lingering on Syed's face before he swallowed hard.

"I don't expect you to," his tongue swept along his lips nervously, eyes searching. "But I'll never stop hoping that you'll want this as much as me, someday."

His gaze dropped, taking in their entwined fingers; a tiny smile suddenly played on his lips as he ran his thumb over the vein that cut a path through the back of Syed's hand.

"You know they all think we've got our happy ending," he glanced up. "That we've done all our fighting and now we can just relax. But we can't, can we? 'Coz this is the hardest part of this whole thing – sticking with it, being together. Especially because it's like we _have_ to work – we went through so much to be together, if we mess this up we lose everything. That's a hell of a lot of pressure – so if I screw up sometimes, then I'm sorry. I really am. Every single time."

There was a moment of silence before Syed nodded.

"Me too," he brought Christian's hand to his lips, turning it over and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his palm; it was a very Christian-like gesture, not something that Syed would normally have done, and the hitch in Christian's breath told Syed just how strongly that fact had registered. Give and take. Compromise. Change. Acceptance.

Not Christian's world and Syed's world anymore.

_Their world_.

He knew instinctively, as Christian moved in to wrap him in a hug – this time Christian was the one doing the hugging, pulling Syed into his chest just like he always did – that perhaps the hardest part of this whole thing was on the horizon. That perhaps they were going to tested more – if that was even conceivable – than they had ever been tested before. And staying together, staying strong, was going to be harder even than getting together in the first place had been.

But right then, with Christian's hands playing softly with his hair and his lips pressing soft kisses to his scalp, he knew that the world could throw whatever it wanted.

This was, and always would be, worth fighting for.

x

**Fin**

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Thank you so much for reading. There were other things I wanted to explore, but I did not want to shoehorn in what did not, naturally, need to be there. So I'll be knocking out a few more fics to accomodate these things!

I hope you have enjoyed it - I hope it has pleased you - and I hope that you'll let me know what you think!

Thank you.


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